


Birthright

by andtheyfightcrime



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s05e22 The Gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 09:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20061436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andtheyfightcrime/pseuds/andtheyfightcrime
Summary: It's a tradition.Ritual and goodbyes as the Scooby Gang and Fang Gang lay Buffy Summers to rest.The slayer is dead. Long live the slayer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came from a [headcanon musing](https://ifeveristoday.tumblr.com/post/186121970723/that-summer-buffy-died-for-the-second-time-who) about what exactly the Scoobies did the summer that Buffy died (the second time), to writing directly about the preparation of her body for burial and the funeral itself. While I didn't use everything I mused about, a lot of it did survive into this incarnation.
> 
> This fic takes place through multiple POVs. Hopefully, everyone sounds in character for the canon time they're in!

_The slayer’s dead. Long live the slayer._

The only sound Dawn heard as she painfully descended from the tower steps was Spike’s loud uncontrolled sobbing. He wept openly, unashamed in his grief. Giles stared mutely at the sight of Buffy’s body, still and perfect atop a mound of rubble.

Willow made a gulping sob before collapsing toward the ground, Tara barely holding on to her. It was Xander who said her name first, in a tone of disbelief.

“Buffy.”

Dawn limped over to her sister’s body. “We need to move her,” she said, noticing the other survivors for the first time. “They can’t see – they can’t know.”

Giles seemed to come back to himself then and nodded. “Yes. We have to move her inside.”

He carefully knelt down and slid his arms underneath Buffy’s body, lifting her. He cradled her head and murmured something into her hair. It sounded like, “My dear girl.”

Dawn swallowed painfully and tugged at his coat sleeve. “She said—she said she figured it out, Giles.”

A look of sorrow, then understanding crossed his face. “She always did enjoy having the last word.”

They split up into groups – Xander driving Anya, Willow, and Tara while Giles ferried her, Buffy – and Spike, who slid into the backseat of the car without a word. The blood had dried in his hair and he stared stiffly ahead. Dawn reached out and squeezed his hand. The action startled him and some of the blankness left Spike’s eyes. “Bit,” he said roughly, then in alarm, “You’re hurt!”

“It’s just a scratch,” she bluffed and then shied away from him as his fingers drew nearer to the rips in her dress. Spike stilled and dropped his hand. “We’re going to take care of that when we get you home,” he muttered.

His glance flicked to Buffy – and Dawn refused to think of her as just a body now – propped up in the front seat, a seat belt strapped across her chest. She looked like she was asleep.

“Where are we going, Giles?”

“I’m taking you home – to your house. I told Xander we’d reconvene there. There will be medical supplies and then we can plan what’s going to happen next.”

Right. What happened next. They would have to….bury her sister and Dawn’s thoughts stubbornly stopped right there.

It was Spike’s turn to squeeze her hand comfortingly.

Xander beat them there by a whole five minutes and they stood around his car, waiting for them to park. It was the second-longest walk of Dawn’s life as they trudged up the familiar driveway.

Willow’s eyes were still red-rimmed but she gave them a brave smile. “I got the key from underneath the flower pot if that’s okay with you Dawnie.” She held it out.

“Yeah,” she managed. “It’s fine.” She took the key and opened the door.

They settled Buffy upstairs in her room while downstairs became a defacto emergency room. Willow and Tara bandaged the easy wounds, and Giles checked for major injuries. Once everyone had been looked after, they settled around the coffee table, even Spike.

Giles cleared his throat. “We have suffered a great loss. Buffy’s sacrifice has saved the world, but we –” and he paused, blinking back sudden tears. “We are still vulnerable. Sunnydale no longer has a Slayer but we still have vampires and unknown predators. Faith is unavailable and I doubt the prison will loan her out for weeknights. We must protect Sunnydale in Buffy’s stead.”

“But how? Buffy had super strength. We’re just – us,” Anya said. “I mean, Willow and Tara have witch powers and I know everything there is to know about the demon underground, and you have…books, but then there’s Xander and Dawn.”

“I am sitting right here,” Spike said testily. “I can still kill demons.”

“I helped Buffy take out Glory,” Xander protested. “Hello, wrecking ball guy, remember?”

Anya waved him aside. “But you can’t take the wrecking ball with you on patrol. And where would you park it?”

“Ahn—” Xander began but Willow interrupted him. “But we have to try. Buffy would want us to try. There’s six of us, and maybe we’re not at Buffy level, but we could be enough.”

She looked like she was about to cry again. “We have to be enough.”

“There’s seven of us,” Dawn said tentatively. The collective glare from everyone else quieted her.

“Buffy wouldn’t want you patrolling,” Tara said gently.

“You are not going,” Spike bit out. “Leave it to the grown-ups.”

Her temper flared. “You could train me. Giles could train me.”

Giles shook his head. “I’m sorry Dawn, but I have to agree with the others. You are ---”

He didn’t have to finish. Dawn knew it down to her bones. Buffy had died for her, had made the choice so she could have another sunrise. It was awful and terrible and Dawn wished she could yell at her, had done more to stop her. Maybe if she had hurtled herself right after – so they would be together at least.

“Fine,” she said. “I won’t patrol.”

They relaxed after that. Tara moved next to her and put her arm around her shoulders. “We want you safe, Dawnie,” she said. “It’s what Buffy would have wanted, too.”

“What about what I want,” Dawn said quietly. “I want her back. I want her to still be alive.”

Tara sighed and kissed her forehead. “I know, sweetie.”

“So what do we do now,” Anya asked. “I mean….with Buffy.”

“We have to keep her death a secret. Bury her somewhere out of the way,” Willow said before her eyes widened. She blurted out, “Oh God, Angel!” To which Spike had bristled and then stomped out of the Summers’s home, yelling that he’d be back later.

Giles just shook his head and handed a notepad to Xander. “We need a coffin and we don’t have any time to build one. Rigor mortis will be setting in soon –”

“I know someone who could help with that,” Anya said. “The coffin thing, not the rigor mortis.”

“I could do a stasis spell,” Willow said. “I’ll do it before I go to L.A. Angel deserves to know,” she said forcefully before Xander could argue. “You _know_ he does.”

“Okay. Just drive safe, Will. I don’t think I can handle anything else happening.”

“I got a perfect driver’s test score and I’m not going to slip up now,” she smiled. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually, it was Tara who walked upstairs with Dawn to prepare Buffy for burial. Willow had thrust a scribbled bit of notepaper at Tara and kissed her on the cheek as she left. “It’s a simple spell. No ingredients needed.”

“It would have been too hard for her,” Tara said as they walked inside Buffy’s room. “To have to do this for Buffy. When Joyce died, it was hard because it came out of nowhere. It was the first death of someone she cared about, you know? Willow’s grandparents are still alive, as are her aunts and uncles. But Buffy….” She trailed off. “It would’ve been too hard,” she repeated.

Dawn nodded. “Buffy’s her best friend.”

“And I didn’t know Buffy like she did,” Tara said. “She was important to me, though. Because she’s important to Willow. And to you. She was kind to me when I didn’t expect it. And I knew how it felt to lose a mother.”

Dawn stared down at Buffy’s body. She thought there was just a tinge of blue seeping into her sister’s lips. She was pale, almost as pale as her sweater. Buffy would have hated it, she loved the sun and tanning while Dawn stayed inside and read her books while enviously watching her sister soak up rays outside.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she said in a small voice.

“It’s okay, Dawnie,” Tara said immediately. “You don’t have to, but could you help me?”

She took a deep breath. “What do I need to?”

It was almost clinical, which made it comforting. She brought a basin of warm water and a washcloth and watched as Tara stripped the dirty and blood-stained sweater off of her sister’s body. Then her pants, and socks, and shoes. Buffy looked like a doll in her bra and underwear, and Dawn looked away as Tara washed the dirt away from her face. “Can you go get me something for her to wear? Maybe a favorite dress?”

“None of Buffy’s black clothes would be appropriate for a funeral,” Dawn said, and then inspiration struck. “But Mom would have something. A gallery dress.”

She hurried out of the room and walked to her mother’s room. The door was closed, as it had been since her funeral. She took a deep breath and gripped the knob and twisted.

She didn’t know what she was expecting – maybe that the air would be stale since they hadn’t aired the room out – she knew Buffy had gone in once and spent the whole night crying, but she had been too busy huddled under her covers doing the same.

Instead, the room still smelled like Mom. There was a half-melted candle on her vanity and as she stepped inside, longing and a terrible ache rent through her and she fell to her knees, gasping. Mom was gone, and now Buffy was, and she was all alone.

She knew she had the Scoobies, but it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be.

_It’s Summers’s blood, Buffy said, smiling. Her palm shone red. It’s the same as mine._

She had all these memories of them as children – of tailing Buffy around the house and sneaking into her room to read her diary and trying on her shoes. Buffy pushing her on the playground swing, laughing as she flew so high that it was scary and dizzying, but in a good way. The first time Billy Fordham came to the house to collect money for Hemery’s baseball team. Buffy had begged their mom to buy all of his wrapping paper and then throwing a tantrum because she only bought one roll. Being tucked in beside Buffy as Mom read them a bedtime story, and Buffy reciting it in the dark, but in her own way. The time they fought over who would get the last pizza roll when their dad swooped in and ate it instead. Buffy sitting at the kitchen table, brow furrowed and a pout on her lips as their father tried to tutor her in Algebra. Daddy buying her ice cream as they watched the ice dancers twirl around on the ice, as delicate as falling snowflakes. Mommy making her chicken and stars and calling her little pumpkin belly as Buffy cuddled up to her side. Buffy reluctantly handing her the bigger half of the chocolate bar as she promised she wouldn’t tell Mom about the older guy who walked Buffy home at night.

All of it was fake.

But these past few months – they had been real and Buffy was her sister and she was valued and loved and Buffy had _died_ for her.

It was up to her to live the most full life possible now. Because she made a promise, and Summers girls always kept a promise.

She got up, wiped her eyes and went to her mother’s closet. She sifted through the dresses, mentally checking them off – too floral, too matronly, too padded shoulders. Then she saw the black dress shoved to the very side, a tag still attached. It was the right length and it had sleeves and a modest neckline. It would have to do.

She grabbed it off the hanger.

Buffy was clean and smelled lightly of cinnamon when Dawn walked in, clutching the dress. Tara looked up with a smile. “Willow’s spell,” she explained. “She’s been working on adding scents to the incantations without having to burn incense or stinky herbs. It’s all in the wording.”

The blue had faded from Buffy’s lips and Tara had brushed her hair so it flowed neatly around her shoulders.

“So she’ll be …okay?”

“It’s stopped the complete rigor mortis,” Tara said. “If we do the ceremony later tonight or even tomorrow, she should be fine.”

Dawn held out the dress. “I found this in Mom’s room. She never wore it.”

“Thank you, Dawnie. I think there’s a necklace that would go with it.” She motioned at the top of Buffy’s dresser.

Most of Buffy’s jewelry had a cross attached to it, so Dawn picked the daintiest one. She unhooked the clasp and carefully placed it around Buffy’s neck, fastened the hook and slid it around so the cross laid against her collarbones.

“I have shoes she can wear,” she said. “They were just a little too small for me anyway.”

They also pinched her feet, but as Buffy wasn’t going to be walking anymore, it wouldn’t matter. Mom had bought them on sale and said it was time Dawn had some grown-up heels, but the kitten heels were too girlish for Dawn’s taste.

“Then she’s perfect,” Tara said.

“Some lip gloss, maybe,” Dawn said. “Buffy always wore lip gloss.”

“You’re right. Can you choose a color?”

She dabbed Sunset Surprise on her sister’s unsmiling mouth. “She’s done,” she said.


	3. Chapter 3

They walked down into the middle of a heated argument. Xander was on the phone yelling about stone masonry while Anya gesticulated in the air as she spoke into her cell phone. “I believe you owe me a favor, Bruce. Remember the Goldrush? I didn’t _have_ to give you a head start.”

Giles sat on the couch, staring at the notepad on his lap. He looked up briefly as Tara and Dawn sat down next to him. “Ah, you’re back,” he said.

“Yep. Buffy’s ready. Whenever you are.”

Giles winced. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.” He pinched between his eyebrows and suddenly looked older and softer – as if all the fight had evaporated from him.

“What are you writing, Mr. Giles?” Tara gestured at the notepad.

“Buffy’s eulogy,” Giles said. “She deserves a proper burial, and a proper funeral and for us to remember her as she deserved.” He laughed bitterly.

“But I can’t write a word. My slayer’s died, _again_, and I can’t write a bloody word about it.”

He tossed the notepad away and shut his eyes.

“I don’t think it matters what you say – just how you say it,” Tara offered. “Buffy knew she was loved.”

“This town didn’t deserve her,” Giles said flatly. “I didn’t deserve her.”

“That’s not true,” Dawn said heatedly. “You were important to her. And she cared about you. About what you thought.”

She exhaled and said what had been weighing on her soul. “And at least you’re not the reason she died.”

“Sweetie, _no_,” Tara protested just as Giles opened his eyes and looked at her in shock. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it is,” Dawn insisted.

She was aware then of the sudden silence. Xander had hung up on his conversation and Anya looked at her with sympathy.

“It’s not,” Xander said. “Dawn, Buffy would have died for any of us. It’s what she would do. And she wouldn’t think twice about it.”

“But you weren’t there,” Dawn said, choking back the shame. Buffy’s face had been so peaceful when she gazed at her. “You didn’t see her eyes.”

“No,” Xander agreed. “I didn’t. But I know your sister. She wouldn’t want you to take responsibility for this, because _there_ _is no responsibility_ for this, Dawnie.”

Giles drew her to him. “There, there,” he said. “My dear girl,” and Dawn burst into tears.

Anya handed a piece of bread to Tara, who spread a lavish amount of jam on it, then placed it on top of a ready peanut buttered slice. “I can’t get used to this,” Anya said, as she watched Xander carry Dawn upstairs, tired out from crying. “I mean, I’ve seen death. I’ve caused it. And Xander explained why Joyce’s death was so hurtful and made everyone sad. I understand now, why it feels so bad when someone dies. Especially someone I knew. And Xander hasn’t cried once and I know he wants to because he gets that scrunchy faced look he gets when he’s trying to be brave. And I think it’s stupid, and that he should cry because then the bad feelings can go away. I thought Buffy was strange, but Slayers often are. But she was a good kind of strange and now we can’t be close gal pals because I want Xander to know I’m not threatened by his close relationships with other women.”

She took a deep breath. “And I’m nervous about what’s going to happen. Sure we’re going to fight as a team, but Buffy made it safe to live here – well, saf_er,_ and I’m worried that we’re all going to be sitting ducks and I want us all to make it out alive.”

Tara nodded. “I told Willow once, that we had to prepare for crash position. And I think that it’s going to take an extra-large amount of positioning this time. But Anya, we have each other. And that’s important.”

Anya stared at her, and then reached for the peanut butter. “Okay. So we’ll make food and make sure everyone is fed and watered and then we can plan for our survival.”

Tara smiled. “We can do that.”

Giles put the kettle on, his mind on autopilot. Anya had offered him a sandwich, but he politely declined. He had no appetite and probably wouldn’t for the foreseeable future. There was so much that needed to be done, with Buffy’s funeral, and the matter of Dawn. Dawn had to be kept safe, that was certain. Even though Glory was dead, her minions were still around, and who knew if Dawn’s key quality was still active. Any demon with their mind on a second go at Armaggeddon would be interested. No one outside of their circle could know that Buffy was dead. There was the father in L.A., and Giles muttered an oath underneath his breath – pillock hadn’t bothered to fly from Spain for his ex-wife’s funeral, there’d be no hope he’d come for his eldest daughter. He didn’t deserve to know, and he added Hank Summers’s name to the list of people who hadn’t deserved Buffy’s love.

It made a twisted sort of sense now. Buffy’s lack of secrecy about her calling had brought so many people into his life, had enriched and changed it for the better. And now he was entrusted with keeping her death the greatest secret of all.

Dawn would need to remain in Sunnydale, and he would stay on to look after her. It wouldn’t do for her to live alone, but it would not be proper for him to move in. Perhaps one of the children – Willow, and Tara. They were the closest to Dawn. They would be a steadying presence.

The shrill whistle of the kettle brought him back to the present, and he poured it over the tea he found in the cabinets. Joyce had the good sense to have PG tips and he inhaled the comforting scent gratefully.

The knob to the back door rattled angrily and he turned to see Spike walk inside, his head bowed slightly. A bottle of Jack Daniels dangled from his right hand. Spike looked at him defiantly. “If the Great Poof is coming, I’m not getting through this without some Jack.”

Giles got out another mug and set it on the counter. “Shut up and pour.”

Spike’s eyebrows rose and then he smirked. “To Buffy, then.”

His face crumpled.

Giles raised a hand to steady on the vampire’s shoulder, thought better of it and wrapped it around his mug instead. “To Buffy,” he agreed.

“I knew her martyr complex was going to get the best of her,” Spike whispered. “But oh, if I could take it back. Every damned word of it.”

He knocked his mug back, the liquid burn not enough to fill his empty heart.


	4. Chapter 4

She had made it in a much shorter amount of time than she originally anticipated. For once, traffic in L.A. was light, which was a miracle in itself. It probably was a real miracle, come to think of it. Willow silently thanked the Goddess and made herself at home in the Hyperion’s lounge. No one was there, which was strange. She called out Angel’s name, and when no one appeared, called out Cordelia’s.

They had to be here, she thought worriedly. She hadn’t pushed the pedal to the maximum of the legal speed limit to be greeted by nobody. Angel needed to know. That Buffy – and her shoulders hitched, and she wasn’t going to cry again, damn it. She had held it together through the drive, through five terrible radio stations, for the sole purpose of telling Angel that the love of his life was dead. An ex-slayer. She was no more. She hath expired. The damsel doth demised. Buffy was _dead_, and there was nothing she could do about it – and she was so, so, sorry. Her eyes watered and she brushed away the tears angrily. No babbling, she chastised herself. Buffy would want me to be brave.

But oh, how can I when she’s gone?

_Why don’t we start with “Hi, I’m Buffy.”_

Willow straightened up when she heard the doors swing open. Angel’s voice rang out happily and Willow blinked. That was something new. He sounded lighter, not so much the familiar broody guy she knew back in Sunnydale.

There was a group of people surrounding him, all of them smiling and laughing – and _what was Cordelia wearing?_

Angel came to a dead stop when he saw her.

“Willow?”

Resolve face, she chanted inwardly. Resolve face. I will not cry in front of strangers.

She didn’t have to. Angel knew.

“It’s Buffy.”

She nodded.

She followed him into his office. He paced around jerkily, picking up things on his desk and then setting them down.

“What’s happened?”

His voice was calm, belying his actions.

Willow cleared her throat. “There was this hell god and she was after Dawn. Buffy stopped her.”

“Is she all right?” Again, that deadly calm voice.

She bit her lip. “The hell god built a tower,” she said. “There was a blood sacrifice to be made – Dawn’s.”

Angel stiffened. He turned his back to her. “And?”

“And Angel, she jumped. Buffy jumped,” Willow’s voice broke. “She’s –“

“No,” Angel said quietly. “_No_, Willow. You are not here to tell me that Buffy is dead. I don’t accept it.”

His voice grew louder. “I reject it. You are not telling me Buffy’s dead, because she can’t be. She can’t be!”

He turned around and Willow recoiled. Angel was in full game face, his fangs extended. “Buffy’s not dead,” he snarled. “I didn’t do what I had to do – for her to DIE,” and his face abruptly smoothed out, and Angel was crying. Angel was crying and the ruins of his clock were clenched in his bloody fists as he leaned heavily against his desk.

“It didn’t matter,” he said to himself. “Everything I gave up – it didn’t matter.”

He grabbed Willow by the shoulders. “I left her so she could be _safe_,” he said harshly. “What were you doing?”

This Angel was somehow more frightening than Angelus, and Willow began to feel a hot flame of anger inside her. She shoved Angel away with a small burst of magic.

He fell back against the desk with a thud and he looked at her in shock.

Willow drew herself up to her full height and glared at him. “You know as well as I do, that nobody could tell Buffy what to do if she didn’t want to do it. Not her mother, not Giles, not me, and certainly not _you_.” She spat the last word like it was poison.

“I came because Buffy would want you there. To say goodbye. Because you never gave her the courtesy of one,” and Angel’s mouth thinned into a pained line and his gaze dropped to the ground.

“Because she loved you. Still loved you even when she was with Riley.”

Willow held out a hand, and after a pause, Angel took it.

Willow sniffed. “I brought my car. You can ride with me or you can follow me. Your choice.”

He looked at her cautiously. “If you don’t mind, I’ll follow.”

“Good choice.”

Xander volunteered to pick up the coffin. It gave him a reasonable excuse to flee the house of sorrow, and he just couldn’t stand it anymore. It wasn’t right that they were at Buffy’s house, and he mentally corrected himself,_ Dawn’s_ house without Buffy there. Bad enough they had lost Joyce. But to add Buffy on top of the already sucky cake of grief and suck was too much. He couldn’t deal. So he followed the time honored tradition of Harris men everywhere when faced with brutal emotions – he bailed.

He knew, of course. Somewhere in his reptile brain, he knew that Buffy was going to die before everyone else because that was what a Slayer was built for. For saving the world and dying young. Except she already had died. And he had saved her because a world without Buffy didn’t seem like a world he wanted to be in. He had saved her but he was too late this time, and Buffy wasn’t coming back with a gasp and water expelled from her lungs. Buffy was going into the ground, finito, stick a stake into her and she’s done. His first love and he felt a throb in his chest. He loved Anya, was in love with Anya, was ready to spend the rest of his probably short life – _because Buffy was dead_ – life with Anya, but there would always be a corner of his heart that loved Buffy Summers.

It wasn’t the Slayer he cared so much about. It was Buffy, and her amused eye roll, and the way she laughed at his jokes sometimes, and the way she made Willow light up, and how she made him feel like he could do anything, even when it was just picking up a dozen at Mr. Donuts. She had taught him there was a world out there where he could be useful and fight bad guys, and be more than just Xander Harris, heir to a basement full of second-tier sports memorabilia and one Snoopy covered sleeping bag. She had protected him even when he was being a jerk about it, and relied on him.

That girl was _gone_, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He wiped at his face absently, the mortuary Anya gave him directions to was coming up at the next intersection.

Dawn woke up when there was a loud bang and a snarled, “What’s HE doing here?” reverberated downstairs. She scrambled out of bed. That sounded like Angel.

It was, and Giles and Willow were hanging onto him as he lifted a very drunk Spike into the air. Spike laughed, an ugly, mocking sound, and lashed out at Angel.

“Cavalry’s a bit too late, isn’t it?”

Angel growled. “I said, what is he doing here?”

“Doing your job, you useless piece of –“ Spike yelled, and his gaze fell onto Dawn’s disbelieving face. He snapped his mouth shut.

“Wanker,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

Angel dropped him.

“Actually, I don’t care why you’re here. You have to leave. Now.”

“Angel, stop!” Dawn yelled.

Anya winced and nudged Tara. “She’s doing that noise again,” she complained. “I thought that was fixed.”

Angel turned to look at Dawn. “Why?”

His voice was dull. Dawn stomped down the stairs. “Because _I_ want him here. And Buffy would too. He’s been fighting for us these past few months.”

Angel looked at Spike incredulously. _“Him?”_

“Yes me,” Spike sneered. “I’m practically a White hat.”

Giles coughed. Spike shrugged. “Fine. Morally grey hat. That’s not the point. I’ve been backing up the Slayer and her Scooby gang and …I want to be here. I missed out on Joyce’s funeral, I’m not missing this one.”

Angel shook his head as if he was clearing something out. “Did Willow put a spell on you?”

“Hey,” Willow and Spike said at the same time.

Dawn folded her arms. “Angel, I know Buffy would have wanted you here, so I’m not going to kick you out, but that means Spike gets to be here too.”

Angel sighed. “Fine.”

“You both have to be on your best behavior. Spike, go get not drunk. You’re embarrassing yourself. You’re embarrassing _me_.”

Spike had the grace to look ashamed and he stared at his scuffed boots. “Sorry, bit,” he murmured. “Right. I’ll just get myself squared away then. Be back. Again.”

He slunk off to the kitchen.

Angel looked adrift and she took pity on him. “Do you want to see her?”

He froze.

Dawn waited.

He nodded and clenched his fists – she noticed they were bandaged. “Can I?” he whispered.

“She’s upstairs. In her room.”

Angel swallowed, and then took the steps, two at a time.

Dawn sank into her favorite comfy chair. “So. What’d I miss?”

Willow grinned. “More like what did _I_ miss. You were quite the boss lady there, Miss Dawn.”

Dawn shrugged. “Buffy told me I had to be firm with them or they’d never stop arguing.”

It wasn’t fair. He sat by her bedside and waited in vain for the telltale rise of her chest, the soothing sound of her heartbeat. Buffy’s eyes remained stubbornly shut, her body still. Like the grave, they would be laying her to rest in and Angel wanted to _howl_, wanted to destroy and tear and curse the Oracles, because they had lied to his face. If he had known the consequences, he would have put aside his selfish pride and held onto her with every bit of strength he possessed. There hadn’t been enough time and now Buffy was dead. He shut his eyes and bent his head over his hands. The pain was already fading and he knew the lacerations would be gone by morning. “Forgive me,” he whispered to the sleeping beauty in her bed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

He lifted her cool – too cold hand in his and kissed the delicate knuckles, her little wrist. “Forgive me for not coming back,” he said.

He knew with a certainty that he would never return to Sunnydale, now. The sturdiest thread that kept Sunnydale in his thoughts had snapped, and he couldn’t see a reason for him to return, barring another Apocalypse. Buffy’s friends would rally around Dawn, and if Spike was helping them fight, then he didn’t have to worry about Sunnydale being completely unprotected.

Sluggishly, a darker voice chimed in his thoughts. _They let her die_, his demon seethed. _That was our right. She was ours!_

Buffy was never yours, Angel rebuked the oily voice. And all we had was borrowed time.

_You didn’t deserve her_, the demon sulkily replied.

Finally, something we agree on.

He let go of her hand and stood up. He glanced around her room and frowned at the uncovered mirror and the glowing light of her digital clock.

“This won’t do,” he said and draped a blanket over the mirror. He unplugged the clock and checked to make sure the windows were shut.

She should be resting on a bier of roses and sunflowers, he thought. Mourners wall to wall in the house, and music playing to keep the evil spirits away.

Instead, there’s Spike. And me.

The invisible vise around his heart tightened and he choked out her name.

It wasn’t fair.


	5. Chapter 5

There were two more cars parked on the street in front of Dawn’s house when Xander arrived with the coffin in the back of his truck. He had swung by his apartment and filled an overnight bag for him and Anya as well – it would be okay if they stayed over for the night, wouldn’t it? He didn’t feel like going home.

Well, aside from picking up an overnight bag.

He let himself in and knocked on the kitchen wall. “I’m back,” he said. “With the coffin.”

“We’re in here,” Tara called. “There’s donuts and pizza, too.”

“Much better than funeral potatoes,” Xander said and did a double-take as he took in the new visitors. “Dea-Angel. And Cordelia. And Wesley?”

Angel only nodded at him.

“Yes, hello, Xander.”

“You’re welcome for the food,” Cordelia said exasperatedly, but then smiled one of her big Queen C smiles, the one Xander remembered before things got bad with them. He waded through the crowd and pulled her into a hug.

“Thank you, Cordy.”

“Uh, okay,” Cordelia said, surprised and patted him on the back. She softened. “I’m so sorry, Xander.”

“As am I,” Wesley said somberly. “Though our working relationship was not the best, Miss Summers was an exemplary Slayer and a generous young woman. It was a privilege to be her Watcher.”

“Yeah, it really sucks,” Xander said, uncomfortable with the sincerity in Wesley’s voice. “But at least everyone that was in her life is here now.”

“Of course. We must celebrate her life and give her the respect she was due.”

“I’d rather have her alive, but yeah, celebrate her life.”

Xander excused himself and walked over to the coffee table. Dawn and Spike were sitting on the sofa, eating pizza and chatting quietly. Dawn was holding Spike’s left hand and squeezing it gently. Xander decided not to ask and helped himself to a slice of pizza and a donut.

“So, when did they show up?”

“About an hour ago, give or take a few minutes,” Dawn said. “Angel and Spike got into a growly match and then Cordelia and Wesley showed up with food.”

Spike snorted. “Looks like they took your role, Harris.”

“Spike,” Dawn said warningly. She squeezed his hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” Spike said. “Sorry. A bit on edge with Angel in residence and his merry band of almost rans.”

“They have that effect on people,” Xander said through a mouthful of donut. He swallowed. “They’ll go back soon, though.”

“Good riddance.”

“Spike!”

“This is me sober, Niblet. I’m mean and snarly, and I don’t care who knows it.”

She narrowed her eyes. Spike wilted.

“Look, I’m going upstairs and paying my respects.”

“Good,” Dawn said sweetly. “Then maybe you’ll remember how to behave when you come back.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “What I do for you lot….”

Even though it was unnecessary for him to do so, Spike held his breath as he pushed open the door. The light had been left on, but he could have seen her in the dark easily. He moved closer and frowned as Angel’s scent rose from the chair by her bedside.

“Figures he’d get here first,” he muttered. He shoved it away and sat by her, the mattress dipping slightly under his frame.

‘’Lo, Pet.”

He gazed at her, taking in the details of her eyelashes, her glossy lips, the simple cross she wore. The black didn’t really suit her, but it did bring out how vividly gold her hair was.

The last bits of sunshine he was allowed to glance upon, and his lip curled in self-loathing.

Not Spike and certainly not William could have saved her. It should have been him, ashes at the bottom of the tower instead of her, captured by time at last.

“I’m sorry,” he said hesitantly. “I failed you. I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner, moved faster.”

His fingers curled in her bedspread. “And you. What were you thinking, running up there half-cocked like some…”

He swallowed. “Some damn heroine who never knows when to quit. The world kept spinning on, didn’t it?”

“I wish you weren’t so literal-minded, pet, I really do. When I said Slayers have a death wish – I didn’t mean for you to take a header off a tower. Impossible woman.”

“But I remember my promise. I failed you, but I’m not going to fail her. Not Dawn. She’ll be wrapped in bubble wrap and anyone even sneezes on her, they’re going to answer to me. I promise.”

He stood up. “It was real, you know. I know you didn’t believe me, but it was real. And it’ll be real until the day I finally do turn into dust.”

He walked to the other side of her bed and glanced at the photos that lived on her nightstand. Joyce. The Scoobies. Niblet when she was more of a nibble. He smiled fondly and then turned all of the photos over. He hadn’t been a superstitious man when he’d been alive, but he’d also never thought he’d fall in love with a Slayer. It was better to be safe than sorry in a house of mourning.

Willow came up after the conversation turned to where they were going to bury Buffy. She hadn’t been in the mood to pick Buffy’s favorite cemetery, so she deferred to the other’s judgment. Tara had whispered in her ear that she was going to get some things from their apartment so Dawn would have company when it was all over. She saw Xander’s overnight duffel and figured he had the same idea.

She climbed up the stairs, her fingers lingering on the banister. How many times had she gone up those stairs? Or waited at the bottom while Buffy skipped down, her Slayer sense preventing any unsightly slips and falls. Five years of visiting Buffy, of having Buffy visit, the sleepovers and hangs and anytime really. Buffy’s house was open to her and Xander and she craved the warmth it provided when her own home was room temperature. Her feet had brought her to Buffy’s door and she saw it was ajar. Whoever visited last must have forgotten to close it.

She sniffed appreciatively when she walked inside. The cinnamon essence came through, sweet, but not too spicy. She would remove the stasis spell as soon as Buffy was inside her coffin.

_And maybe, she could bring Buffy back in the future._ The sudden wild thought skittered around the edges of her rational brain, resisting all sensible attempts to rein it in. It wasn’t impossible. Willow Rosenberg hadn’t met one problem that she couldn’t solve.

Uh oh. She was slipping into the third person. That was probably a sign she needed rest. But still –

A little research couldn’t hurt.

She reached out and stroked Buffy’s cheek.

“I miss you,” Willow said.

They decided on Restfield for Buffy’s burial place. It was large enough that an extra grave wouldn’t be seen as out of the ordinary, and there was a copse of trees that would shade her grave. Giles had been the final vote.

With that settled, they began to make their own plans. Wesley and Cordelia left to check into their hotel. Angel disappeared, Spike following him soon after. Then it was just the humans left in the house. Dawn rested her head in Tara’s lap and fell asleep as the older girl stroked her hair. Xander and Anya made up a small sleeping area in the living room, while Giles claimed the large recliner, over Willow’s protest that he should have Joyce’s room.

“You and Tara can stay there tonight,” he said wearily. “I’ll be fine here.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Giles?”

“Yes, Tara. This chair is quite comfortable.”

When the children were all asleep, Giles walked upstairs, his feet feeling heavier with each step. He had put it off long enough.

Out of habit, he took his glasses off and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he cleaned them. Buffy had accused him once of using it as an avoidance tactic. For this, it absolutely was. How many deaths weighed on his conscience? Too many to count, and doubtless, there would be more. That was the nature of _his_ calling. To document, to advise, and to remember. Every Watcher buried their Slayer if they weren’t buried beside them.

It was tradition.

It was one he had shared with this unlikely family for the past five years, but especially with Buffy. How many nights had passed with a remembered glance of past battles fought? Those first uncertain days when he wasn’t sure Buffy had been up to the task of Slaying, of realizing the gravitas of her gift. She was willful, impetuous, and completely unwilling to listen to reason.

He grimaced.

No wonder he had been exasperated with her. She was like him.

Except for one important detail. Buffy would not kill a human being. It was that flame of goodness – that belief in humans, even the worst ones, deserved justice by other means. Buffy’s humanity was her shield against the supernatural loneliness that Slaying demanded, and it failed her at last.

He was glad that she would never know what he had done to protect her.

It was the only thing he could find comfort in at this hour.

Deirdre, Randall. Those were guilty blots on his conscience and a warning against the shallowness of his youth.

Kendra. A tragedy of a young life snuffed out before her time.

Jenny. An unexpected light and a companion to navigate the darkness with. Her death still echoed in his heart, despite the years. She could have been the love of his life, and it was bittersweet that he would never have the chance to find out.

Joyce. A lovely woman, and a cruel reminder that life was not fair.

And now, Buffy.

There were no words he could write in his diary to convey what Buffy’s life had meant to him. Her death could not be official, so instead, he would have to live with her ghost.

For a minute, he let himself resent her.

If only she had seen it his way. It was cruel, but that was the nature of war – lives would be lost, and it was his job to assure that many would survive.

He cared for Dawn and all of the children. He knew by the firm jut of her chin that Buffy would never agree to his suggestion. He believed her when she said she would kill anyone who touched Dawn.

And yet.

His Slayer, dead. Just like all the rest.

Buffy didn’t deserve to be a footnote in a future dusty tome. She wasn’t a case study. She was willful, impetuous and intuitive. She was kind, lively, and so fiercely alive in action and thought that it was exhausting at times.

She was the Slayer, but she was also Buffy.

He had lost both of them.

The fate of the world seemed to dim underneath that realization.


	6. Chapter 6

Dawn wasn’t surprised that there was a hole already dug when they arrived at Restfield, or that Spike and Angel stood at opposite ends of it, their faces perfectly blank. Xander gazed into it and then said, “Nice job, guys. Dirt’s all even and I bet it’s exactly six feet deep.”

“Muscle memory, you just don’t forget some things,” Angel said. Spike nodded. “It’s a good spot you’ve chosen. It’s calm here. She would’ve liked the view.”

“The coffin’s parked by the curb near the Stanislaus crypt. I’m thinking some vampire pallbearers are in order.”

They both moved as one, their respective coats flapping in the wind as they followed Xander. Giles, Wesley, and Willow brought up the rear.

Tara, Anya, Cordelia, and Dawn were left to guard the gravesite.

“We’ll need to ward the site so if anyone that isn’t us will forget it if they come upon it,” Anya said matter of factly.

“We can do that?” Tara was surprised. “I was just thinking of a protective circle.”

“When the Master died, we consecrated the ground with holy water so he wouldn’t be dug up,” Cordelia offered. “Of course, this being Sunnydale, vampires did it anyway and there was these extremely unflattering robes we had to wear.”

“We have holy water in stock at the Magic Box,” Anya said. “I could write them off as a charitable donation.”

“You’d do that?” Dawn said.

“Well, yes. Though I wasn’t as close with Buffy as you are, she was important to us, as a group. I liked her.”

“Yeah. She didn’t deserve to go out like this,” Cordelia said. “But it’s such a Buffy thing to do. She always was big on saving the world. I understand how she feels now.”

She gave Dawn a small smile. “Your sister and I didn’t always get along, but she guaranteed that I survived Sunnydale. I’ll always be thankful for that.”

“Thanks, Cordelia. I’m glad you came.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

Giles, Xander, and Willow carried the right side of Buffy’s coffin, while Wesley, Spike, and Angel carried the left. Everyone held hands as Willow and Tara chanted a lifting spell and lowered it into the ground.

“We return to you, Diana, goddess of the Hunt, your chosen warrior. May you protect her and keep her from all that would harm her.”

Their chant died away as a golden glow outlined the coffin, then faded.

When it was over as if by unspoken decree, everyone looked toward Giles.

He shifted uncomfortably at all the attention. “I had some words prepared. Well, to be honest, they were rubbish. What could I say that would make this any easier? It is a speech I have never wanted to give and foolishly, I hoped, would never have to.”

His shoulders slumped. “All I can say is that I have never regretted a day knowing Buffy. Of being her Watcher, her Librarian – even though she rarely checked out a book,” and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, “and it has been the joy of my life to have guided her. I only wished I had done a better job.”

Dawn bent her head and she could hear the sound of soft weeping from her right – Willow, and snuffling to her left – Xander. Even Cordelia was sniffling.

“I take no pleasure in this moment but to say goodbye to my dear girl. She loved and was loved and that’s enough I think.”

He cleared his throat and looked around. “Would anyone like to add their thoughts?”

No one stepped forward.

“Then it’s time,” Giles said and bent down to scoop a handful of freshly turned over dirt. He waited until everyone did the same.

They dropped their handful of dirt into the hole until it sounded like soft rain against the coffin lid.

Xander fetched shovels from the back of his truck and handed them around, and slowly, they filled in the grave.

_Buffy Summers is dead. Long live Buffy Summers._

_ **Epilogue, a week later** _

Xander flopped none too gracefully on the dirt and grass that covered Buffy’s grave. He wiped his forehead and gazed up into the canopy of trees. “Hey, Buffster. I got you a present today.”

He stood up and unloaded the headstone off his dolly and pushed it into position. Xander looked at it critically. “I might need a level for this. It took longer than I thought for them to special order the stone, and then I had to drive into the next town so it could get engraved, but Giles paid for the expedition fee.”

He walked back and gazed at the engraving.

BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS

1981-2001

BELOVED SISTER

DEVOTED FRIEND

SHE SAVED THE WORLD

A LOT

“I’m not good at words like Will and Giles are. Heck, not even as good as Dawn is. So I wasn’t sure I could write down what to say on your headstone, but I thought long and hard about it. And I hope you like it. Because that’s who you were, Buffy.”

There was something caught in his throat, and he sniffed. “Well, anyway. I miss you. I think I’ll never stop missing you. Buff,” his voice cracked. “We’ll take care of everything now. Don’t worry about Dawn.”

He rested his palm on the curved stone.

“Well. I have to go. I picked up some extra shifts. Gotta finish paying off Anya’s engagement ring. That’s right, we’re getting married. Nobody knows. Except uh, for you. But I figured you could keep the secret.”

Xander took a deep breath and exhaled.

“So, goodbye. For now.”


End file.
